he simply fell at her feet and kissed the hem of her dress. ‘Enough, sir, I’m not worthy, sir,’ she babbled, trying to lift him back on to the bed. ‘My saviour,’ he reverently folded his hands before her. ‘Vous êtes noble comme une marquise!33 I — I am a scoundrel! Oh, I have been dishonest my entire life…’
It's surprisingly like Raskolnikov (also her name is Sofya)
